SNAFU: Future Warfare

by Geoff Brown

  He left his rocky hiding place. Time for high ground, he decided, and climbed a rope ladder leading to the treetops.

  As soon as he reached the top, bullets ricocheted around him. He rushed for cover, then tossed his C-4 pack over the ledge. He waited a second then clicked the remote. BOOM! His screen indicated two more kills. He received a seven kill-streak bonus and another bonus for getting so many kills during his first spawn. The more kills he achieved in a single lifetime, the more rewards he received. Spencer was racking them in. Twelve seconds in and he had already doubled the top player's score.

  When the game ended, Spencer had 32 kills and only three deaths. Now for his favorite part. The lobby taunts. Whenever someone spoke, their name lit up on Spencer's screen.

  “You fuckin' faggot,” shouted MyGunsRBettr. “There's no way you could've shot me that fast unless you're glitching.”

  “He's gotta be glitching,” agreed IWannaKillPuppies.

  Spencer smiled. People often thought he was using cheats, auto-aims that gave instant head shots, but he never did. It was pure skill.

  “If I had you on a real battlefield, it would be a different story,” MyGunsRBettr continued.

  Spencer laughed. He loved hearing the frustration in the older player's voices, many of whom were ex-military.

  “There's no fuckin' kill streaks in real life!” MyGunsRBettr shouted.

  “No shit, Sherlock,” Spencer taunted.

  Kill streaks enhanced his speed, increased his weapon damage, or gave him better ammunition, such as explosive rounds. Basically, the more kills he racked up, the deadlier he became.

  “You faggot,” MyGunsRBettr repeated before signing off. Spencer laughed as the name disappeared from the player list.

  “I'm gonna rape you next round, you glitchin' asshole,” taunted IWannaKillPuppies.

  “Bring it,” Spencer replied.

  When the following round ended, Spencer had 26 kills and 5 deaths. IWannaKillPuppies disappeared halfway through the match when he was only 3 and 11.

  “Time to find new meat,” mused Spencer. He quit Slaughterhouse and scanned through the menu until he decided on Bloodlust.

  Bloodlust was a single player free-for-all that only allowed close range and melee weapons. Spencer chose a .44 Automag for short range, and ‘The Punisher’, a large machete for some serious hack and slash.

  The maps in Bloodlust were small and the key was to keep moving or die. He launched into a game and found himself in dense jungle. He checked the board and found seven other players along for the action. To his left, he heard the sound of a stream. He knew it would be the main avenue of action.

  Spencer had only moved a few feet when he heard someone thrashing through the jungle. A moment later, someone was randomly firing just ahead of him. Spencer sprinted forward. He was making too much noise to hear Spencer who swung ‘The Punisher’ and severed his head.

  A few seconds later, he arrived at the stream and peered through the foliage. Already he could see the water turning red. A moment later, a body floated past. Then just across the stream – movement. He aimed his .44 and waited for a clear shot, but it didn't happen. Spencer couldn't wait too long or someone might sneak up behind him. He decided to chance it. He fired three rounds where he thought he'd seen the movement. His screen indicated a kill and a second later, a body fell into the water.

  He reloaded and quickly crossed the stream. He ran into another soldier looking for the source of the shot. Boom! The Automag took him down.

  Spencer decided to risk climbing a tree. He holstered his weapons and shimmied up as fast as he could. From his new vantage point, he could see movement all around him in the jungle. He killed five more people before they discovered his hiding place and killed him.

  Spencer respawned in a new location and began the hunt again. This time, he stayed upriver and whenever two other foes engaged, he would pick off the winner. Sometimes he got lucky and killed them both before they could kill each other. Amateurs.

  Spencer ended the game with a 19-9 kill/death ratio. Not bad.

  He usually didn't get as many taunts in the free-for-all matches, but sometimes someone took offense. The guy's name was Shogun-Jay and he was not happy. Spencer received a nemesis medal for killing Shogun-Jay more than eight times in a single match. The medal had his opponent's name scratched onto a bloody dog tag.

  “Hey, motherfucker. How'd you kill me so many times?” demanded Shogun-Jay. “I'm talking to you, Killerprime.” Killerprime was Spencer's online handle.

  “I guess I'm just that good,” replied Spencer.

  “That good at sucking cock.”

  “No, I'm that good at making you suck mine, bitch.” Spencer knew how to piss off his opponents.

  “You probably don't even have hair on your crotch, you little faggot.”

  “That's because all my pubes are stuck in your teeth,” Spencer laughed.

  “You little motherfucker. You're lucky I'm in Venezuela defending your ass.”

  “I hope you're better at killing in real life than you are in the game.”

  “Listen, you little asshole. You better hope that you never have to face what I've had to face, cuz your bullshit bunny-hopping techniques won't mean shit in real life. It isn't like the game. There are no respawns. When you die, you...” suddenly Spencer could tell the guy was choked up, “...you stay dead.”

  For a moment Spencer wondered if Shogun-Jay was serious. Then he realized he was just being played. This guy was probably faking it, trying to garner sympathy. Spencer had no sympathy; he only had death and humiliation to dispense.

  “Whatever,” Spencer replied.

  Still, Spencer decided to quit the game. Something about the guy's voice got to him. He played another round in a different match and did a little better. Finally, his friend Deathdirge came online.

  “About time,” said Spencer. “You ready for some Carnage?”

  “You better believe it,” replied Deathdirge with his thick New Zealand accent.

  Carnage involved ten two-man teams working against each other to grab the ‘package’ and extract it via the highest point on the map. It was one of the most challenging modes of the game since you had to work against the other teams, but also work together to stop whichever team was closest to winning. Enemies became allies until those same allies turned traitorous. There was only one person you could trust, your partner, and Deathdirge was an exceptional player. Together, they were almost unstoppable.

  “How ya been, mate?” asked Deathdirge halfway through their first game. Their opponents in the first match were fairly new to the game and the duo was dominating. They could afford some casual conversation.

  “Pretty good. Someone just took the package into the office building. Had a couple good games before you came on.”

  “Oh yeah? Look out, there's a sniper on the scaffolding. What matches did ya play?”

  Spencer filled him in on his latest scores and glories.

  “Oh, you're not gonna believe this, but I played a game the other night after you left that was one of my best games yet,” bragged Deathdirge. “I had a kill streak of 42.”

  “No way!” exclaimed Spencer.

  “Yeah, it was awesome.”

  “There's the package,” Spencer shouted, suddenly back in the game.

  “Got it.”

  “Get it out of here. I'll cover you.”

  Ten seconds later, they won the match. Most of the other players quit so they wouldn't have to play another round against them.

  “Fuckin' cunts,” decried Deathdirge. Spencer noticed he always called people cunts. Especially anyone who confused him for Australian. He hated that more than anything.

  Spencer met Deathdirge late one weekend night during a game of Global War. Their skill levels were comparable and Spencer ended up playing until dawn. A week later, Spencer began Spring break and he was able to stay up late every night. The two bonded in fake blood and kill streaks.

  Once school r
esumed, however, Spencer rarely saw Deathdirge. Because he lived on the other side of the world, they were rarely online at the same time. Spencer tried staying up late on weekends, but often fell asleep before Deathdirge came online. When they did play, Spencer suffered the following Monday mornings. That's when he decided to change his schedule. His parents didn't seem to mind as long as he finished his homework and kept his grades up.

  They switched lobbies and found some more formidable opponents.

  “Now this should be a challenge,” said Deathdirge, noting the rankings on the screen.

  The game was intense, and Spencer barely managed to get the package across the border before the time limit ran out. Spencer's hands were sweaty. There was nothing better.

  “Hey, good round,” offered Megawatt. Compliments were rare, but Spencer always appreciated when someone was graceful in defeat. However, it was followed by the more traditional fare.

  “You kill-streak whores. I would've had you if you didn't have all those armor and ammo upgrades,” Vampiresuck moaned.

  “I guess you'll just have to try harder, mate,” taunted Deathdirge.

  “Or die less,” joked Spencer.

  “I don't have time to play all day and night like you little fuckers. I actually have to work for a living.”

  Deathdirge laughed then added, “Ahhh, what a whiny cunt.”

  “Fuckers!” Vampiresuck added before quitting.

  “Let's go to private chat,” suggested Deathdirge who sent the invite before he finished speaking. “I'm sick of these maggots.”

  Deathdirge preferred private chat to the game lobbies, and Spencer never confessed his joy of listening to the old men whine. But he didn't mind when he was gaming with Deathdirge. It was the most fun he had playing.

  “Man, that was a good game,” said Spencer.

  “Yeah, it was pretty tight, wasn't it?”

  They played two more games, winning one and losing the other, before Deathdirge suggested a bathroom break. They each took five minutes to stretch, relieve themselves, and grab another drink. When Deathdirge returned, Spencer asked, “Hey, tell me about your 42 kill streak.”

  “Oh, it was so awesome. I was so close to 50, I couldn't believe it. Another few minutes and I woulda had it!”

  “What happened? They finally kill you?”

  “No, the stupid game ended. I was 58 and 8. Funny thing is, I started the game horribly. Died three times without a single kill. Then it just turned around and I hit my stride.”

  “Damn. That's good.”

  “Yeah, but I still haven't made it to the fabled fifty.”

  “We'll get there.”

  “Oh, I don't doubt it.”

  Spencer's highest kill streak was 35. But every game he played, he played in the hopes of making it to 50, which was the ultimate enhancement – invulnerability! Usually a game was over by the time someone reached that high, but the accomplishment was getting there at all. Few had ever done it.

  “By the way, did you vote today?” Deathdirge suddenly asked.

  Spencer sighed wondering why Deathdirge even cared.

  “Uh... no,” Spencer replied. Then he reluctantly added, “I'm only sixteen, remember.”

  “Oh yeah, I completely forgot.” Deathdirge had commented in the past that Spencer always sounded mature for his age.

  “Who do you think's gonna win?”

  Ugh, this was not what Spencer wanted to talk about.

  “I don't really care.”

  “Really? It seems like a really big deal in your country.”

  “I guess, but it just seems stupid to me.”

  “What about your parents? You know who they voted for?”

  “Barker.”

  “Really? He seems like such a drongo, especially after he screwed up and caused the Caracas Catastrophe.”

  “Who cares, let's just play.”

  “Yeah, sorry, mate. Just curious. Seems like you can't turn on a computer without reading something about it, even over here.”

  They played for an hour before taking another break. When they resumed, Deathdirge announced, “Hey, I just checked the news. Looks like this Hanley guy won it.”

  “Oh,” was all Spencer had to say.

  “Yeah, I was just reading some of his proposals. They sound quite radical. I hadn't really read much on that.”

  “Yeah, that's what people were saying here.”

  “Did you read about the new draft?”

  “Yeah, I heard about it.”

  “Are you worried?”

  “Dude, it won't affect me. My parents make sure I have good grades so I'm guaranteed college acceptance.”

  “I hope so. I read if elected, Hanley and his party plan on pushing through a lot of aggressive new legislation. They might even reduce the number of exemptions.”

  “Well,” Spencer said, hoping to end the conversation, “I don't have to worry about it for another two years.”

  “Good point,” Deathdirge agreed. “I certainly hope it's nothing you ever have to worry about though, because being drafted would suck!”

  “I guess,” Spencer sighed, he tapped his foot impatiently. “You ready to launch?”

  “I might have one more game in me, but I'll have to go after this one. I'm feeling a bit knackered.”

  They ended up losing the next round and Deathdirge apologized for playing so poorly because he was tired. Spencer played two more games, then powered down the GS and jumped in the shower. He finished his homework and made breakfast all before anyone else was awake. When his father finally came downstairs, he seemed grumpy so Spencer stayed out of his way.

  Much to Spencer's chagrin, the election talk continued at school. It was all anyone seemed to care about, all except his friends, who were more obsessed with masturbation.

  “Hey Spence, did you yank it last night?” asked Kyley-B.

  “No,” Spencer said defensively.

  “Then how come you weren't online after school?”

  “Yeah, you're never online anymore,” accused Jackson.

  “That's because he doesn't like gaming with us,” said Royce. “He only goes on late at night so he can avoid us.”

  Spencer knew Royce must have checked his log-in times.

  “Why the hell do you get up so early to play?” Royce asked.

  “I don't know. It's just more fun. My parents aren't nagging me and I can focus.”

  “Dude, at three in the morning I'd rather focus on sleeping,” said Jackson.

  “You mean you're focused on yanking it,” laughed Kyley-B.

  “Shut up!”

  This was why Spencer hated gaming with his friends – they never took anything seriously.

  For the next few months, Spencer's life followed the same routine. Occasionally, he would try gaming with his friends, but compared to Deathdirge, they were horrible. But then Deathdirge stopped playing; disappeared completely.

  One evening in March, Spencer was taunting his victims in the post-game lobby.

  “Gawdammed kids! You think you're such hot shit! Wait'll you see real combat! You'll shit your pants the first time someone shoots at you!”

  “If you could shoot half as good as me, then maybe you'd win a few battles,” Spencer taunted.

  “You don't know how lucky you are that I'm here protecting the reserves that let you play your little fucking game.”

  “When I'm old enough I'll come over there and show you how to kick ass.”

  The voice laughed. “You wouldn't last five minutes in the military.”

  “That's five minutes longer than you lasted in the game, dumb—”

  Spencer jumped as his door opened. It was his dad.

  Spencer thumbed ‘mute’ and asked, “What is it, Dad?”

  “Still playing the game?”

  Spencer nodded.

  “Doesn't it ever get boring?”

  Spencer shook his head no and wrinkled his eyebrows at the ridiculousness of the question. As if the game could ever
get boring.

  “I want you to come downstairs. Your mom and I thought it might be nice to have a real family dinner tonight.”

  Nice and gay, Spencer thought.

  “You can finish this game, but then I want you to wash up and join us.”

  “Okay.”

  Since a new game was about to begin, he simply jumped out of the lobby and powered down. He followed his dad downstairs and was surprised to see his Aunt Lynne sitting in the living room.

  “There's my little man,” she said.

  Spencer cringed. She'd been calling him her ‘little man’ since he was seven. He hated it, but he forced a smile and gave her a hug. When he pulled back, he noticed she'd been crying.

  “Is something wrong?” he asked. Immediately, tears resumed streaming from her eyes. Spencer turned and looked at his parents who in turn looked at Lynne. She nodded and stammered, “It's okay. You can tell him.”

  “Your Uncle Paul was drafted today. He left for military service in the Philippines. We didn't want your aunt to be alone tonight, so we invited her over.”

  She gave Spencer another big hug; her tears warm against his neck.

  Dinner was quiet and awkward. Toby kept asking questions that prompted their mom to say, “Not now!” or “Stop talking and finish chewing”, whether he was chewing or not. When the meal was over, Spencer's mom asked him to help her clean up the dishes. Together, they carried them into the kitchen. She started the dishwasher and made sure they were alone.

  Then, despite being taller than her, she leaned over and placed her hand on Spencer's shoulder.

  “Spencer, honey, we need to talk.”

  This sounded serious. For a moment, Spencer worried it might have something to do with his late night adventures.

  “What is it?” he asked.